Yellow Heartache

In her head she heard pins drop.

Flies rumouring.

Dead images revitalised.

The hair on her skin curled.

The blood flow arrested.

Her lips ground.

Her breath drags her where

Truths lie in her body.

She wrestles whilst

She sits still and

Can’t master a thing.

It’s in my body.

It’s in my body.

It’s in my body.

She tries to smoke it out.

Open up her skin to create a crevice, freedom, an exit.

Drown it as she gets her blood boiling.

Dehydrating it with her tears.

And she sings a song and

The weight seems to disappear.


“Young Girl Dressed In Yellow” by József Rippl-Rónai (1861-1927)


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